Category: Arkansas

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The Shoulders We Stand On

This past Sunday, I made the familiar drive home to Conway County, and I am so very glad I did….

The first Sunday in May is always Decoration Day at Old Hickory Cemetery. For me, it’s more than just a cemetery – It is a landscape of my history as well as many blessed memories.

When I was a little girl, graves were built up for Decoration Days. Daddy would haul in dirt to put on top of his father’s (my grandfather’s) grave and use a shovel to carefully mound it up, then a rake to make it smooth and neat before we placed the flowers to decorate the grave. Today, the modern convenience of riding mowers requires flat surfaces, so the mounds are gone—but the love that shaped them remains. That kind of love never really dies; it just waits for us to come back and remember it. That’s part of what Decoration Days are about…..remembering.

It’s a beautiful, time-honored pattern. Family members and friends arrive on Saturday or early Sunday to clean and tend the graves. Then, on Sunday afternoon, everyone returns to walk the grounds, admire the colorful silk arrangements, and share stories. Eventually, we all gather under the shade trees to talk and laugh and connect and catch up. Decoration Days are also about building and maintaining connections.

This past weekend, the weather was a rare gift—temperatures were pleasant and a cool breeze was blowing instead of the May heat and humidity that is typical. It was a wonderful weekend for the event….but as I looked around, I noticed there were fewer in attendance than ever before. There were two children walking through the cemetery with their grandmother and listening eagerly as she pointed out names and shared her memories of long ago. I was glad to see it – and thankful that my family had walked me through this same cemetery so many times sharing our stories and history as well. They gave me a gift.

I feel sad to see these traditions wane, because I believe these ties to our past are so important. It’s our history. Our history gives us some of our “why.” When we know and understand the grit and the joy of those who came before us – we find a compass for our own lives…..and it can change our trajectory.

In a way, it is a privilege—one I don’t take for granted—to have so many direct ancestors in one spot. One of my friends recently told me that she doesn’t know who her ancestors were, much less where they are buried. Over 30 of mine are within a 25-mile radius of where I grew up. To have 14 direct ancestors buried within 50 yards of where I will one day lie, many many years from now… it is a priceless kind of heritage. I am grateful to my parents and family for sharing the stories with me and blessing me with the memories.

On the drive home, I turned off to head down the winding little dirt road toward the little community of Lost Corner, Arkansas to decorate the graves of my great-grandparents, Mama and Papa Scroggins, and my great-great-grandmother, Ida.

The first thing you see as you wind down the road is a neat little old building (now used as a church) that stands quiet in front of the cemetery. It serves as a church building now, but a long time ago it was a school. I have a picture of my Mam-ma, my great aunt Sylvia, and my great aunt Ethel – along with their classmates standing outside the school as children. When I’m there, I love to imagine the sights and sounds of them running and playing and wondering and growing up here.

Mama and Papa and their girls had a hard life – but also good. They worked hard – picking cotton to make a living. My Mam-ma and her sisters ran and played with the other children while their parents picked – until they were about seven years old…then they joined their parents in fields. It’s hard work. Pickers slung a cotton bag over their shoulder to drag behind them and fill with cotton as they moved down the row. My great-aunt Verna said that when she was a little girl she would pick and drag that bag until it was too heavy for her to move. Then, she would leave that row for Mama or Papa to finish while she started on a new one.

Even with all the hard work, Mama Scroggins found time for art and beauty. She was naturally clever and artistic, often cleverly repurposing things instead of throwing them away. I have two small candleholders on the piano in my living room that she made from used metal cans. She even created her own wedding ring out of a solid silver quarter. Pretty talented!

My great-aunt Verna told me that Mama Scroggins would save scraps of paper all year long. Every spring, neighbors would come asking her to make paper flowers to decorate family graves – and she would work to get them made for everyone. Think of that—in a time of such hard manual labor, she found time to be an artist. After the day’s work was done, she spent her evenings folding, twisting, and cutting “scraps” into flowers to decorate the graves at the little cemetery where she now lies. The flowers I had bought to place on her grave were silk—but maybe next year I will learn to make paper flowers just for her. I would like that. She left a legacy that I want to remember and carry with me.

We are always moving forward in this life – and that’s good – but taking the time to look back—to learn and remember and honor the people who came before us—is how we realize whose shoulders we are standing on. We didn’t get here on our own. The progress, every comfort, and the joys we enjoy today was provided to us, to some degree, by the hard work of those who picked the sharp bolls of cotton until their fingers bled, by the resourcefulness of silver-quarter rings, and the quiet beauty of paper-flower bouquets of yesterday. When we remember them, we ensure that their contributions continue to live through us.

Does your family have a “Decoration Day” tradition? Or perhaps you have a “Mama Scroggins” in your history who made something beautiful out of nothing? I would love to hear about the shoulders you stand on in the comments today.

#ThinkOnGoodThings #OldHickory #LostCorner #ConwayCounty #ArkansasHistory #DecorationDay #FamilyLegacy #MamaScroggins #Roots #BlessedMemories #StandingOnShoulders

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The Rhythm of Joy

The Rhythm of Joy

“Break bread with neighbors.”

That is the tagline at Neighbor’s Mill Bakery & Cafe in Harrison, Arkansas, and this morning, I saw them live up to it (as they always do). As I stood in line to place my breakfast order, I watched the gentleman at the counter take his time—true, unhurried time—visiting amicably with an out-of-town couple. When he told them, “Thanks for coming in!”, he truly sounded as if he meant it. In our world of “hurry up and go,” that extra minute of connection didn’t just make their day; it set the tone for mine.

But the real lesson came after I sat down.

I had just settled into my booth when I felt it: Clump. Clump-Clump.

My entire booth was shaking. I turned around to find the source and saw a beautiful little blonde girl with cute, messy curls, maybe three years old, sitting back-to-back with me while eating breakfast with her daddy. She was happily munching away, swinging her legs with pure toddler energy, her little feet rhythmically hitting the back of my seat.

I had a choice in that moment. I could have easily let it frustrate me. I could have let it ruin my quiet breakfast.

But instead, I chose to hear the sound of joy.

Every time I took a bite of my sandwich: Clump, clump-clump. Every time I took a sip of my iced tea: Clump-clump.

Instead of an irritation, those little kicks became a reminder of how wonderful it is to be small, happy, and out for breakfast with your daddy. That rhythmic “shaking” of my booth didn’t ruin my morning—in fact, it made it better.

It turns out that “breaking bread with neighbors” isn’t just about the person across the table; sometimes, it’s about the tiny little neighbor kicking the back of your seat and reminding you that life is meant to be swung with both feet.

Let’s all choose to have a good day.

Let’s swing those feet, Friends! 😊

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The Natural Artistry of Frost Flowers: Frozen Ribbons on a Winter Morning

Last night was the first time this season that we have experienced freezing temperatures here in the Arkansas Ozarks….so I should have been thinking about frost flowers this morning…..but I wasn’t. It was Monday, and I was hurriedly getting around for work and the start of the week…and so my thoughts were distracted. Fortunately, my friend Beverly texted me a picture she had taken this morning – and her reminder put me eagerly on the lookout! (Thank you, Beverly!!!) Here’s what I delightedly discovered!

On the coldest, clearest mornings of late autumn and early winter, nature sometimes offers a truly amazing gift: delicate, almost unbelievable sculptures of ice that look like they’re blooming right out of the soil. They aren’t true flowers of course – they are “frost flowers”, also known as ice ribbons….and they are as beautiful as they are unusual!

You may have driven by them on the sides of the road on a cold morning in late fall – and never even knew that they were there. Believe it or not, from a distance these beautiful little intricate ice flowers can sometimes almost look like pieces of littered trash – until you slow down and look closer and see their extraordinary, delicate, detailed beauty.

Several things have to line up perfectly for frost flowers to exist. They require a perfect, but almost contradictory, mix of conditions:

  1. Air Temperature: The air absolutely has to be freezing.
  2. Soil Condition: This is the crucial part! The ground must still be relatively warm and moist, which lets the plant’s root system keep drinking water.
  3. The Plant Host: You’ll only spot this phenomenon on a few specific plant species whose stems can hang onto moisture and split nicely under stress.

The Science Behind the Magic: Water Pressure and Ice

The creation of a frost flower is a pretty cool demonstration of water pressure and physics in the botanical world of nature.

The unfrozen roots of the plant continually draw water up from the soil into the stem just like a straw sucking up a drink. When this water column hits the super-freezing air, it starts to turn to ice inside the plant’s little water tubes.

Here’s the kicker: when water turns solid, its volume increases by about 9% – in other words it gets bigger (that’s why frozen water bottles sometimes explode!). This internal pressure from the expanding ice puts immense stress on the plant’s hollow, vertical stem, forcing it to rupture and split open.

As more water gets pulled up, the pressure pushes the liquid right out through those new cracks. When it touches the freezing air, the water instantly freezes into thin, paper-like sheets. This continuous process of pushing out water and freezing it creates characteristicly thin, curly ribbons, forming flowers. It keeps going until the roots freeze solid or the morning sun ruins the party!

These specific requirements are what make finding a frost flower such a rare and delightful winter sighting!

Here Today, Gone by Noon: A Fleeting Work of Art

Because such precise conditions are needed for frost flowers to form and because they are so fragile, seeing a frost flower is rare and special. A brief touch or the first warm rays of the sun will make them vanish, often leaving behind just a trace of water on the cracked stem. Finding one is a moment of pure wonderment, a blessing from above, and a testament to the surprising and delicate artistry we are blessed with in the winter landscape.

So…be on the lookout the next time you step outside on a cold, still morning early in the changing of seasons. You might just catch nature in the act of painting with ice!

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Connections are Special

Being surrounded by family was normal for me when I was a little girl growing up in Conway County. The roots of all sides of my family are deep there, and I was blessed to grow up being loved by so many. I was only 8 years old (almost 9) when Mother and Daddy decided to move to Carroll County, and I remember what it felt like for the first time in my life to go to school, to church, to the grocery store, even to the park and not run into family or familiar friends. We were the only Carlons in Carroll County, and it felt unfamiliar and strange to have no connections. It seemed to me that my classmates knew everyone – that they had those local roots and connections that I was used to…. I wasn’t sad – it just felt….different, like something was missing.

When I started junior high, the halls on the high school wing of the building were lined with pictures of all the classes to ever graduate from Green Forest. Those pictures dated back to the late 1800’s. In addition, the sidewalks we walked on going to the cafeteria every day had the names of each of the classes recorded in the concrete. It all fascinated me – and I loved reading them – seeing the names of so many of my classmates’ siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, parents, and grandparents – I loved history and family and connections even then!

I remember how excited I was when I learned that my Great-Uncle Ira and Great-Aunt Oretha had lived in Green Forest at one time. I remember when Daddy told me – I was eager to find out where their house stood and when they had lived here. I was full of questions – wondering why I hadn’t been told this before! I was very excited to find out that their oldest daughter Sarah, my first cousin once removed, had graduated from Green Forest High School. It may sound silly, but it was almost comforting to know that I had a connection too. I remember eagerly searching for her name as I walked the sidewalks. Knowing that both she and I graduated from the same high school – the only members of our family to do so – has always made me feel a kindred connection to her.

Discovering connections and learning the stories of my family’s roots and the journey from long ago to today is important and enjoyable to me. I’ve been having such fun with my ancestry research….

A few weeks ago, I posted a story about my 6th great-grandfather, U.S. Brigadier General Levi Garrett Casey, a decorated hero of the Revolutionary War. My link to him runs through my great-grandmother, Maggie Beeson – and I have found his stories fascinating.

While researching great-grandfather Casey and his family – I found some information about his brother, Jesse, that revealed another interesting connection. Jesse was born in Maryland and later moved with his family to South Carolina. He had five sons, one named Aaron. Along with his father, his uncles, and his grandfather, Aaron fought in the Revolutionary War, serving under Colonel Benjamin Roebuck.

One of Aaron’s sons, Abner (named for his great-grandfather), married and in 1834 moved his family to Arkansas, settling on the Buffalo Fork of the White River in what is now Newton County. I was surprised to discover that his homestead was located 40 or 50 miles from the house I live in now. (I think that’s so cool!)

According to information found in the Springfield (MO) Greene County Library, Abner, a millwright, built one of the first water mills in the area. He also built one of the first Baptist church buildings. He and his wife Elizabeth lived the remainder of their lives on their Newton County farm and are buried near Parthenon.

Here’s where I think the story gets really interesting!

Abner and his wife Elizabeth had four sons. One was named Levi (presumably after his great great uncle). After living in Arkansas for several years, Levi moved his family to Taney County, Missouri and settled on a land grant on Swan Creek near present-day Forsyth. He cleared the land and built a cabin, living there many years for the remainder of his life. The cabin was loved and stayed in the family for many years….until the late 1940’s when Bull Shoals Dam was being built. The construction of the dam meant the property would need to be sold, so Levi’s great-granddaughter, Opal McHaffie Parnell, sold the land with the stipulation that she could relocate and keep the treasured family home.

Years later, the beloved relocated cabin is still standing – in fact I visited it recently….as I have done many, many times through the years – never knowing of the family connection. The beautiful old dog-trot cabin, built by Levi Casey (my 3rd cousin 4X removed), is the McHaffie Homestead located on the grounds of the Silver Dollar City theme park.

Ironically, it’s one of my favorite places to visit at the park! Through the years, I have sat on the porch of the old dog-trot cabin many times listening to the City’s storyteller – Judy Dockery Young, watching depictions and demonstrations of pioneer life, or enjoying the beautiful music of the “Homestead Pickers” band.

Now, each visit is going to be a little bit more fun.

Connections are special.

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The Story of Margrette

A little grave marker, nestled among the familiar names of my relatives, was how I first met Margrette Ruth Blasingame. It was an unexpected discovery in the quiet, peaceful grounds of Old Hickory Cemetery, a place where my family’s history is literally carved in stone. In 2021, my Mother and I made several trips to the cemetery – working on a project we had undertaken to clean and restore family gravestones. Many of the old headstones were darkened and overgrown with lichens, making them difficult to read…..but one little stone in the family plot was virtually unreadable. I remember tracing the stone with my finger trying to determine what it said….and failing. We completed the first treatment, then waited, returned, and completed the second……then repeated the process again.

Finally, the darkened stone was clean, and the rough surface of the old gravestone bore a name, with the brief dates of a life etched beneath:

Margrette Ruth Blasingame
Born July 21, 1926
Died March 27, 1929.

She was my first cousin, once removed – the second child of my Great-Aunt Zilby and her husband J.H. Blasingame…

I remember my Aunt Zilby —she taught me how to play Yahtzee when I visited her on a trip with my parents to California when I was six years old. She also gave me a beautiful blue glass vase – an unusual gift for a small child – but one that I have kept and treasured through the years because it came from her. It sits proudly in my guest room today.

Aunt Zilby married J.H. Blasingame in 1923 when she was just 16. Their first son was born the next year. Two years later, another baby was born – a daughter named Margrette Ruth. Two more years – and another son was born to the little family. Shortly after his birth, they left Hattieville and moved to the Little Rock area. Daddy used to tell me of a general mercantile store, possibly much like the one Aunt Zilby’s father (my great-grandfather) operated in Hattieville. The store they ran was located on Highway 10 – a country road outside of Little Rock that carried travelers to and from the capital city. Over the decades, the growing city has swallowed much of that countryside…and the location of the long-gone little store is now part of the busy city on Cantrell Road.

For the past few years, that little gravestone was all I had—a stark, poignant reminder of a life cut short at only 2 years, 8 months, and 6 days of age. I often wondered what kind of sudden tragedy had stolen a child so young, and I thought about how devastating it must have been for Aunt Zilby and J.H. to bear.

Some pieces of the puzzle were finally uncovered when I found Margrette Ruth’s death certificate on Ancestry.com. What I found was not the record of a sudden, instant loss, but of a drawn-out, painful struggle. Her small life didn’t succumb to an accident, but to an illness—one that was relentless and, in those times, unbeatable. Margrette Ruth did not die at home; she passed away at Little Rock’s General Hospital. The certificate shows that a physician attended to her illness from March 7, 1929, until her death on the 27th.

The official cause of death was listed as “pyemia.”

The word was new to me – I had to look it up. Pyemia is a severe form of blood poisoning, a widespread systemic infection—a type of sepsis—that spreads through the bloodstream, leading to abscesses and multiple organ failure.

In the year 1929, it was typically a death sentence.

As a great-niece looking back though the decades, I can only imagine the helplessness – the panic – the family must have felt. They endured three weeks of watching their child fight a relentless, unseen enemy in a hospital room, hoping against hope that the doctors could turn the tide. But in 1929, no effective treatment existed.

The reason is simple: the age of antibiotics, something we take for granted, had not yet dawned. Pyemia, contracted likely from a simple injury or untreated infection, was a death sentence. Hospitals were full of people—children and adults alike—dying from infections that today are routinely treatable.

The life-saving drug, penicillin, and the resulting antibiotic age were still more than a decade away. Before this discovery, a simple cut or scratch or common illness could lead to a deadly infection, filling hospitals with people suffering from maladies for which doctors could offer little hope. Pneumonia, rheumatic fever, and yes, pyemia, were often insurmountable foes. It wasn’t until mass production efforts began in the United States in the 1940s that penicillin and later other antibiotics became the widely available healing medicines we know today.

As I think about little Margrette Ruth suffering for weeks in a hospital, her young parents watching helplessly—I am struck by a profound and painful realization: had she been born just fifteen or twenty years later, a simple course of medicine could have saved her life. The medications that we now use routinely were then only a future reality that arrived tragically too late for my great aunt and uncle’s little girl.

My study into Margrette Ruth’s short life turned out to be a poignant lesson in medical history. It made the familiar comfort of a doctor’s visit, a course of medication, or a simple preventative measure feel like an incredible, life-saving blessing. We truly are blessed by the advances of modern medicine, as well as the scientists and researchers who are constantly working to develop new treatments and improve our health care. I carry with me a deep gratitude for the countless lives that are now saved—lives that, in Margrette Ruth Blasingame’s time, would have been lost.

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The Stories I Wish I Knew

old books

I’ve been researching my ancestry for the past several months and I have so enjoyed all of the family members I am “meeting” and all of their stories I am discovering. I’m so grateful to the people and organizations who have recorded history – whether it be census data, official records, written family accounts, cemetery information, and so on. They help to piece together the stories of the people that came before – the people who worked and sacrificed and tried and failed and tried again and created…..blazing trails for all the rest of us. I’ve said it many times, we stand on the shoulders of those who came before us…the people who pioneered the land, developed communities, organized our systems and structures, built the roads….those who invented, created, established, loved, learned, and grew….

I’ve posted about some of my relatives recently….but so far none have had a name so interesting, so unique, as that of my great-great grandmother……but I’ll get to that in a minute… 🙂 When I was a child attending first grade at Wonderview Public Schools, I rode the bus roughly 9 miles from Hattieville to Wonderview every morning….and 9 miles back every afternoon. Those familiar with this area will easily know that the school bus passed through the community of St. Vincent, Arkansas on the way. It’s interesting to me that I have ridden (and later driven) Arkansas highway 95 so many times through the years – and didn’t know that some of my ancestors were buried in a tiny family cemetery neatly fenced off in the middle of a little pasture beside the highway. The little cemetery has only five graves….my great-great grandfather, Thomas Jefferson McReynolds (a pretty interesting name in it’s own right, don’t you think?), my great-great grandmother (the one with the fun, interesting name), and three others.

Okay – back to the name! I hope you like it as well as I do. My great-great grandmother’s birth name is Tennessee Turnbow. Say that one out loud! C’mon – it’s fun! 🙂

According to some of the records, her family called her “Tennie”. So, as an adult her married name was Tennie McReynolds…. I like it – it’s also got a pretty nice ring to it – but I have to admit I like Tennessee Turnbow even better!

Though I’ve tried hard to learn about her, information is very limited. Diligent searches over time have put together the following very short biography:

“When Tennessee “Tennie” Turnbow was born on April 24, 1850, in Maury County, Tennessee, her father, John, was 41, and her mother, Cathryn, was 35. The entire family moved to Pope County, Arkansas when she was a young child and she grew up there. She married Thomas Jefferson McReynolds on December 22, 1869 and they set up their first home in Dover. Later they moved to Conway County, Arkansas. They had five children during their marriage. Tennessee died as a young mother on September 10, 1880, in Hattieville, Arkansas, at the age of 30. When she passed away, her children were ages 8, 7, 6, 4, and 1½. How hard this must have been. She was buried in St. Vincent, Arkansas – the first grave in the McReynolds Cemetery.”

Five years after her death, my great-great grandfather remarried a lady named Isabelle Templeton and soon more children joined the family.

The information leaves me curious – I can think of so many questions. Without Tennessee Turnbow, I would not be here. In fact, the first time I saw a young picture of her daughter – my great-grandmother Sarah Florence – I was surprised to see how much I look like her. I like that.

But…I know so little about my 2nd great-grandmother…. What was she like? What were her hopes and dreams? What color were her eyes? Her hair? Did she have a nice smile? Did she have a favorite recipe or recipes? Did she like to sing? Was she artistic? Was she practical and quiet? Was she fun loving? What caused her death at such a young age? Was the land she is buried on the family farm? How did my great-great grandfather manage alone for several years with five little children?

The stories I wish I knew make me thoughtful….

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The Garrison Studio – An Arkansas Treasure

A few years ago, I was spending a lot of my time on the 7th floor of UAMS hospital in Little Rock. My mother was there for treatment, and we were in the hospital off and on that year for visits lasting several weeks at a time. Mother and I would go for walks a couple of times every day to get out of her hospital room for a bit and to get a little exercise. The hospital hallway made a big loop around the floor. It was perfect for walking! There were beautiful paintings and framed photography hung along the corridors, giving us and the other patients something to see and talk about as we walked along. One painting in particular always caught both of our eyes. It was a standout favorite for both of us. The colors and use of light were so rich and serene and beautiful. We connected with it. It provided a moment of respite, of escape, of peaceful joy during a challenging situation every time we saw it.

As we journeyed through that year, that same painting continued to be a shared spot of joy for us whenever we were back in the hospital. I made a note of the artist’s name, Bill Garrison, telling myself I would research information about him one day when I had more time….I knew then that I would love to have one of his paintings someday…but didn’t really imagine that it would ever be possible for me….

Fast forward now to last year… When I finally did sit down to research this talented artist, I happily discovered that he lives in Russellville, Arkansas. I decided to visit the Bill Garrison gallery last summer, so I made the drive down Arkansas’ scenic highway 7 to the studio showcasing the works of both he and his wife, Gloria (also a wonderful artist!). I had no idea what to expect – and I was a bit nervous. I can sometimes feel timid when meeting new people and often feel awkward in unfamiliar situations and places.

Visiting a gallery was definitely not a familiar routine for me, and as I turned off the highway and drove down their lane, my confidence waned a bit. There was no need for worry, however. When I pulled up, Mr. and Mrs. Garrison came out to greet me like old friends. I instantly felt welcome and comfortable. We chatted for a few minutes then I walked into their studio…..and I was blown away. A large number of incredibly beautiful art was displayed all around the room, all beautifully framed by Mr. Garrison himself.

It was soon obvious that Arkansas is definitely Mr. Garrison’s inspiration. There were lovely scenes painted in locations from around the state all over the walls. Whenever I would exclaim about the beauty of a painting, Mr. Garrison would delightedly tell me exactly where he had found that particular scene to paint. In fact, he showed me that he always puts the GPS map coordinates on the back of each of his works to record where they were completed. I can’t even adequately describe how beautiful they all were…and since I love Arkansas, most every painting was a lovely celebration of my home state.

I knew I wanted to buy a painting – but the decision of which one was difficult! Did I want the beautiful picture of a field painted in Conway County – the county of my birth? Another tempting choice was a landscape of cool greens and blues showing a beautiful stream with trees shading the water and rocks. Another painting displayed a beautifully shaded, peaceful dirt road with spots of sunlight peaking through the canopy of trees. I truly loved them ALL. Mr. Garrison’s art is an Arkansas treasure!

I finally happily settled on a gorgeous work called “Spadra Autumn”. As the title suggests, it features beautiful fall colors and the light in the painting is just breathtaking. I couldn’t wait to get it home and hang it on my wall….and I have enjoyed it every day since. I find myself often taking the time to pause and study it a bit whenever I walk by. It brings me such joy!

Several weeks after buying the painting, I decided to drive down and see if I could locate the spot of this beautiful scene using Mr. Garrison’s GPS coordinates. According to the map, I was looking for a spot just north of Clarksville on a little county road. I was looking from side to side as I drove along slowly, knowing I must be getting close….As I was driving across a small low water bridge I looked to my left….and there was the scene from my painting. The colors were different, because it wasn’t fall yet, but it was still so recognizable and looked so instantly familiar to me. It made me smile – and it made my painting all the more meaningful and enjoyable to see where it had originated.

If you love art…..or Arkansas….or beauty….I highly recommend a trip to the Garrison “Treehouse Studios” Gallery in Russellville. Call for an appointment and head down to see these true Arkansas treasures. I look forward to going back someday myself!

Contact Information:

Treehouse Studios

https://www.facebook.com/BillGarrisonFineArt

Bill Garrison Fine Art

https://www.facebook.com/BillGarrisonFineArt/

Treehouse Studios Website

http://pages.suddenlink.net/billandgloria/index.htm

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The Check Story

When I was a little girl, folks didn’t carry checkbooks in Conway County, AR – because there was simply no need. Businesses had “counter checks” – checks with no individual account numbers printed on them – available by the register at every business. Customers just took a counter check, filled it out as we do any check, signed their name and paid their bill. It was a far simpler time – when trust was something valued and respected. Things were different than they are today…

In first grade, I rode the school bus from Hattieville, AR to Wonderview, AR – around 8 – 10 miles one way. With all the stops, it took a while to get to and from school. On the way home in the afternoons, the bus had to turn off the highway to drop off some kids down a dirt road that ran beside Beeson’s Grocery – my Great-Uncle O.V.’s little country store…….that his dad (my great-granddad) bought around the turn of the 20th century and ran until his death.

Any of we kids that wanted to were allowed to get off the bus and wait at the store until the bus got back. (Let me restate – much simpler, more trusting times.) If we were lucky, we had some change in our pockets and we could buy something at the store – a Coca-Cola, a candy bar, or my favorite – a frozen orange sherbet push-up. If we were without any cash, we could just run around and play outside until we had to climb back onto the bus. It was a MUCH better day when we had some pocket change! 🙂

One day, Miss Betty (my first grade teacher) taught all of us about writing checks. To this day, I’m really not certain WHY we were taught that in the first grade, but I remember how much fun it was to write them on those blank practice checks she had. We felt like big stuff!

Application of new knowledge is always important – and I was ready to put mine into place that afternoon when we clambered off the bus. I walked into my Uncle O.V’s store and picked up a bag of nacho cheese Doritos, a Coca-Cola, some peanuts, a box of candy cigarettes, a Snickers bar, and best of all – an orange sherbet push-up. I piled all of my treasures on the counter in front of O.V. He watched me quietly and calmly as I picked up a counter check, filled it out as I had been taught, signed my first name “LISA” in large block letters, and looked to him for the total. Grinning very slightly, he rang everything up and gave me the amount. I finished the check carefully and handed it to him – and he handed me my bag of goodies.

I left the store SO excited to tell Mother what I had learned that day.  We could have ANYTHING WE WANTED – ANYWHERE – as long as they had counter checks available!  It was like winning the lottery!!!  I thought I had discovered the Promised Land!  I smiled all the way home and got off the bus with the plastic push-up stick still in my mouth – happily carrying my bag of precious loot.

When Mother heard my story, she did not have the great enthusiasm and joy I had eagerly anticipated. She explained to me that in order to WRITE checks – you first had to put MONEY in the bank. What a crushing disappointment! She then further dashed my hopes by telling me that we had to take all of those precious items in my sack back to O.V. and pay him for the push-up I had enjoyed on my bus ride home.

When we got back to the store, O.V. was chuckling and insisted that I keep all of my dishonestly purchased items. He tacked that check up on the wall behind the register and kept it there proudly for a long, long time. I loved it – and I loved him. I have never forgotten how kind he was that day – how kind he always was to me – and what a wonderful man he was. I loved him dearly – and I miss him very much. An ex-Marine, he was generous, tough, soft-hearted, quiet, kind, hardworking, and just an overall great man.

Thank you, O.V.

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Beeson’s Grocery

Beeson's Grocery

For the first nine years of my life, I lived in the wonderful, cozy little community of Hattieville, Arkansas. Long before my time, Hattieville had boasted several businesses including a hotel, a school, a blacksmith shop, a livery, and more. However, when I was born in late ’60’s, the Hattieville I knew consisted of churches, a wonderful community building (the old school), the ball field, a post office…..and Beeson’s Grocery.

Beeson's Grocery

Much like the “Whistle Stop Cafe” in the old movie “Fried Green Tomatoes”, Beeson’s Grocery has been in many ways the heart of the town for over 100 years. The proud general store opened in 1892 and was purchased by my great-grandfather, Oscar Virgil Beeson a few years later. My great-granddad also purchased the house that sits beside the store, and made it his home. The adjoining properties became a treasured gathering place for family and friends through the years.

In the spring of 1951, while tending his garden located behind the store, my great-granddad suffered a heart attack and passed away – shocking his family and the community with the loss. From every story I have ever heard about him, he was a kind, intelligent, strong, and caring man. My Daddy and his brothers have told me many wonderful tales about their granddad – and I am grateful for those memories they shared with me…and honored to be his great-granddaughter. I know his death left a hole in the family.

Oscar Virgil Beeson, Sr.

But Beeson’s Grocery continued on…

His only son, Oscar Virgil “O.V.” Beeson, Jr., a former Marine, and his wife Bernie, a school teacher, settled into Hattieville to keep the family business alive. When I was a little girl growing up, going to the store was what you did in Hattieville. There was always someone to see and visit with….kids to play with….Coca-Colas out of the ice-cold chest cooler to drink, bologna or salami sandwiches to eat…and great stories to hear and enjoy. Like his father, O.V. was a kind and caring man. I’ve told the story before about the time when, as a first grader, I wrote a hot check at Beeson’s Grocery and loaded up on all kinds of treats. It’s pretty funny. Click here if you’re interested in that one. My uncle O.V. was a good man, and I loved him dearly.

Oscar Virgil "OV" Beeson, Jr.

When O.V. retired, his daughter Nicki Jean took over operations and ran the store for almost 30 years. Her sharp wit and fun personality brought even more charm and enjoyment to the grand old store.

Nicki Jean Beeson Mourot

The old wood stove near the back of the store was a place to pull up a chair and visit, eat a bite, or just sit and relax. It was warm and welcoming and homey and wonderful. For me, it was also special to know that family members I love, as well as many family members I never had the privilege of meeting because they were gone before I was born – had shopped and visited and laughed and eaten and gathered in that old store.

Beeson's Grocery

When I was nine, my parents and I moved away from Hattieville to northwest Arkansas because Daddy had gotten a new job. We always went back home to Hattieville several times a year to see family and friends, and sit at the store and visit…because even though it was a place to buy gas and groceries and sandwiches and snacks and supplies…it was actually so much more. It was a place that connected so many…a place that lingered pleasantly in the minds of anyone who has ever visited Hattieville…the place, in fact, that most people picture when the name Hattieville is mentioned.

When my cousin Nicki retired almost two years ago, the store was sold to new owners, Mike and LaDonna Bicanovsky who enthusiastically worked to expand and update the business to preserve the legacy and tradition of the store.

Beeson's Grocery

However, sometimes good things do come to an end.

Yesterday, I made the familiar drive to Hattieville to see Beeson’s Grocery one more time – because for the first time in over 100 years it has closed its doors. For me, it is a very painful loss….and I am hoping that someone will purchase the business and reopen it once more. For now though, this historic building sits silent and alone.

Famed poet Maya Angelou once said in an interview that spoken words are significant ….they have power and impact….and once they are spoken they “stick forever in the walls” .  I love that.  

The old walls at Beeson’s Grocery are full of so many rich stories and laughter and learning and love.   I am so grateful that I got to be a tiny thread in the beautiful tapestry of vast memories it holds.

Beeson's Grocery
Miss Bernie
Beeson's Grocery
Beeson's Grocery
Beeson's Grocery
Beeson's Grocery
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Exquisite Creatures

Crystal Bridges Exquisite Creatures Entrance

This past May, I purchased tickets to see two different temporary exhibits that are currently being presented at Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art in Bentonville, Arkansas. The first exhibit was the one I was most excited about…..and the reason I was going. The second exhibit, titled “Exquisite Creatures”, was more of an afterthought – an add-on to experience since I was going to the museum anyway… As it turned out, “Exquisite Creatures” was so….exquisite….that I liked it much better than almost anything I have ever seen at this venue.

Crystal Bridges Exquisite Creatures Entrance
Crystal Bridges Exquisite Creatures Entrance

This unique and intriguing exhibit was created by artist, designer, photographer, and author Christopher Marley. According to his website biography, his life’s work is to broaden the world’s appreciation for the earth’s amazing organisms and minerals. With the help of a worldwide network of people and institutions that share his passion for nature, he collects an incredible variety of flora and fauna and more with which to create his designs. I cannot begin to imagine the effort this takes.

I was not really certain what to expect when I visited Crystal Bridges to see the exhibit. Entering the gallery, the first pieces I saw were delicate wall presentations made from real butterflies. They were unbelievably beautiful. As with so many things, these pictures do not do them justice. I was immediately hooked – and excited to see all that this experience had to offer.

The next section featured……a lot of bugs …. insects to be more precise, carefully arranged and brilliantly lit. Some of them were honestly so pretty – with such brilliant natural colors reflecting the lights – they actually resembled precious jewels. The artist’s talent and attention to detail in designing these pieces were extraordinary. The colors, shapes, and textures blended beautifully.

Another section utilized incredibly delicate shells from around the world. The variety and intricate details were fun to see and study.

And then…….the next section definitely got my attention! Snakes have always been something I have tried to avoid. I don’t even like seeing pictures of them! However, the art that Christopher Marley had designed using colorful and unique snakes from around the globe was so lovely that I forgot to be bothered by the fears we often assign to these creatures. I was mesmerized by the intricate details and incredible variety when seeing these creatures up close.

The exhibit also included rocks, and roses, and sea creatures, and so much more….each design carefully created and constructed from the actual natural objects.

For me, this art exhibit was beautiful, educational, inspirational,…..and emotional. I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the variety, detail, and beauty the Lord has provided for us. There are so many examples of His wondrous designs, which to me reflects how deeply He cares for us. It was an absolutely wonderful exhibit – and I am so glad I visited!

If you’re interested, I encourage you to go!  The price of admission is $12.

The exhibit is temporary – so check Crystal Bridges’ website for information. It’s definitely worth your time!